


The Man Behind the Curtains

by FinAmour



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Flash Fic, M/M, POV First Person, POV Jim Moriarty, Prompt Fic, Tattoos, moran is a tattoo artist for some reason, mormor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2020-01-06 09:55:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18386093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FinAmour/pseuds/FinAmour
Summary: “He’s got no idea,” I say to nobody in particular.“No idea whatsoever,” a voice comes from behind the office curtains.“It’s a secret only between the two of us,” I murmur, as the voice from behind the curtains emerges and the shadow of a man comes forth.My right-hand man. My tiger, Sebastian Moran.





	The Man Behind the Curtains

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Callie4180](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Callie4180/gifts).



> This was written at the Writer’s Suite Flash Fic Challenge at #221BCon!
> 
> I was given two characters, one setting, and one plot point, and 30 minutes to complete, and this is what came of it.
> 
> The characters I was given: Sebastian Moran and Jim Moariarty  
> Setting: Mycroft’s office  
> Plot point: Secret tattoo

Only I know the answer. Nobody’s ever going to find it; not the British government, and especially not Sherlock Holmes. His tedious brother, Mycroft, thinks that he’s got me pinned down and is going to be able to make me confess to him, but he must realise by now that nothing short of torture will ever get me talking. 

Let’s be real. It’s been pretty much verified that torture won’t make me talk, either. 

“I’m going to get to the point, Professor Moriarty,” the man says from his office chair in his dank excuse for an office suite. “I want to know where you’re keeping the security codes to the Crown Jewels,” he says. “Now, we can do this the easy way, and you can simply tell me, and you will be given a much easier prison sentence, or you can withhold, and I can’t promise you your safety.”

I snort. “If anyone’s to worry about their safety, surely, it’s not me. Aren’t you the least bit concerned about that… brother of yours?” 

Mycroft arches an eyebrow at me; I can tell that it’s in an effort not to seem shaken, but the emotiveness of his face when someone he cares for is threatened is much too obvious to be hidden.

“That’s not any of your concern,” he fumbles. 

“Oh. Isn’t it?”

“The codes, Professor,” Mycroft reminds me. 

“Well, Mister Holmes,” I say in a singsong voice. “They’re very well hidden, and if they WERE to be found, I don’t even think they’d be of any use to anyone. Besides. The damage has been done. I got into the museum, stole the crown jewels for shits and giggles, and we all went home to our families and our pets and our boring fucking dinners and television and had a gay old time. I honestly don’t know what you need me for.” 

“The only other people who knew these codes,” Mycroft sighs heavily, “Have all been suspiciously murdered within the past three days. It seems that you are the only one to know them, and in order for them to be reset, we need to have the original codes.”

“Pity,” I say. “I don’t really know them off the top of my head. Perhaps you should ask someone else. Unless…” I lean in closer to his desk, my gaze settling onto his. “Well. I suppose we could do a little… information exchange. You share some things with me about that brother of yours, and I… I disclose the codes.”

Mycroft leans over, resting his head in his hands, rubbing his eyes. “Right,” he says. He doesn’t say anything more. Looks down at his phone, seems to be checking his text messages. “If you’ll just… excuse me for a moment,” he says, standing from his chair. “I need to take care of something. I’ll be back.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” I say with a cheeky wink. 

Mycroft treads out of the office, the door slamming behind him.

“He’s got no idea,” I say to nobody in particular. 

“No idea whatsoever,” a voice comes from behind the office curtains.

“It’s a secret only between the two of us,” I murmur, as the voice from behind the curtains emerges and the shadow of a man comes forth.

My right-hand man. My tiger, Sebastian Moran. He’s becoming better and better at making himself unseen, even in the highest of security. Even I didn’t realise he’d be hiding in Mister Holmes’ office until his telltale scent...that musky, heady scent that I know so well, came wafting through the room. 

I stand up, and we walk to meet one another in an embrace. I lean my forehead into his, nuzzling our noses together, and I take his lip into my mouth, sharply biting down. 

He groans lusciously, and wraps his arms around my waist, digging his nails into my back. Begins to let his hands roam up and down my spine, grasping and scratching at it as if it were something that he owned, something that belonged to him. 

“You truly love it, don’t you?” I ask with a sigh. “The artwork on my back that you drew.”

“I do,” he purrs. “The best work I’ve ever done.” He gives me one more quick kiss before releasing his grasp on me, and he lets go, walking behind me and taking the back of my shirt into his hands. He clutches the fabric of my shirt and releases it from the hem of my trousers, pulling it up to admire his handiwork. 

“The secret codes to the Crown Jewels,” he says nearly reverently. “Transcribed into Vigenere Cipher, and tattooed on your back. Nobody knows what they mean. Nobody but us. And nobody ever will.”

I hear footsteps from the corridor, and Moran gives one more squeeze of my hips before dropping my shirt. He leans to my ear and flutters his tongue against it, whispering something sweet and dirty into it before here makes his way quickly back behind the curtain.

I settle back into the chair that I’d been in, just in time for Mycroft to return.

“Professor Moriarty,” he says, his face dark and perturbed. “I believe I’m willing to reach a compromise if you’re willing to give us the codes we need.”

“Yes,” I say with a nod. “A compromise.” I think fondly of the man behind the curtain, of how I couldn’t have done this without him. “You know. There is someone besides Sherlock who I would like to know a bit about. Someone close to him. Someone who could help me get what it is that I need and want. Mister Holmes,” I say as I weave my fingers together in my lap. “I need you to tell me everything there is to know about one Mister John Watson.” 


End file.
